Moments in Time: Connection
by nomibubs
Summary: Hawke now knows what Anders really is, but she's torn over what to do about it - 'good sense rebelling viciously against mage pride'. A simple 'favour for a favour' he'd called it, but why was nothing ever that easy?
1. Chapter 1

Moments in Time – Connection (part 1)

Without so much as a backward glance at those who had near-carried him from the Chantry, Anders staggered away from Hawke's support. With no idea how to aid him, unsure if she even wanted to, she let him go. Her mind was torn by what she had witnessed, good sense rebelling viciously against mage pride.

Anders was possessed. Of that there could be no doubt, but was he an abomination?

_How __can __he __be_, she wondered, looking about the clinic, _and __yet __be __walking, __talking, __and __healing? _She couldn't answer with any certainty. Hawke had never actually faced an abomination before, but she had been told stories about them as a child. If Anders wasn't one, he was Maker-damned close, and she had just seen firsthand what his other 'state' was capable of.

She had recoiled instinctively when the thing inside him had burst out in a cloud of Fade vapours, Anders's human form barely holding together under the violation from within. Whatever he became in that instant, it had reaped bloody fury upon the Templars who had made his friend, Karl, suffer the Rite of Tranquillity – a mage who had passed his Harrowing - mercilessly following through on the only words it had shouted before leaping into the fray: _'__You __will __never __take __another __mage __as __you __took __him.__' _

Hawke knew of the Circle stigma. She had learned a lot from her father. She also knew that the Kirkwall Circle's notoriety was particularly harsh, but she'd had no idea it was this bad. For the bastard Templars to sink to such despicable tactics - tranquilising a proven mage just to bait another apostate - was unforgivable. In fact, if Anders hadn't transformed, fulfilling his dark promise to end the existence of every Templar that stood before him, she wondered if she might have been consumed by her own anger at such atrocious injustices. As it was, she'd been left stricken by the turn of events and unable to do a thing as those standing against them had died horrifically.

The distinctive clatter of heavy armour hitting stone had signalled the end of the viciously swift battle. Silence had claimed all but Anders then, their eyes scanning over the carnage wrought by the healer's hands. Even with the lifeless forms littering the ground at his feet in piles of bloody, fractured steel, he was the only one still moving, his eerily glowing form spinning about in state of insane rage, searching for another enemy to tear apart.

His name had escaped Hawke's lips in a mere whisper, brought out in fear, but it was enough. Unable to distinguish friend from foe, Anders's blazing eyes had rested on her for a heartbeat, maybe sensing her readiness to defend herself and her companions from him should the need arise. He had shifted to face her in response, leaving no doubt of his desire to attack. She'd been prepared, her hands already crackling with electricity as she'd heard Juno growl, the distinctive sound of Varric's crossbow drawing back another bolt, and felt her brother's presence draw protectively to her side. As swiftly as Anders had transformed into a monstrosity, however, his human side had re-emerged; it was this that had shocked Hawke more than anything else.

Demonic possession was not usually something a mage could opt out of at will, but that was exactly what Anders appeared to do. Physically caving in on himself, his hands had grasped madly at either side of his head as he fought for control, quite literally pulling himself back together as the cracks of ethereal energy that had ripped open over his entire body in one blazing instant snapped shut again just as suddenly.

A moment later, the man who'd shakily straightened up in front of her was left surveying the horrific destruction about him with an expression that must have mirrored Hawke's moments before. The sincerity she'd seen then, the mingled terror and sorrow etched into the worry lines of his face could not be denied, though for what he truly feared and grieved she was unsure.

When Anders had staggered slightly, attempting to turn to face his friend, Hawke had reached out for him, clasping him at the elbow supportively; ignoring the disapproving snort she had assumed was from Carver. She couldn't blame her brother, she was just as surprised by her actions as he'd apparently been, but despite her fears she'd seemed incapable of letting Anders stumble unaided. She knew she should have simply grabbed Carver and fled, as any rational being would have run after what they'd witnessed. Yet, when she had looked up at Anders's careworn face and saw his eyes closed shamefully, she just couldn't bring herself to leave him. She could've claimed that it was merely her own healing instincts coming to the fore, but Maker, he had looked so… helpless.

He had allowed her to steady him, but refused to meet her eyes as she'd looked him over with open concern. She had felt his pulse pounding heavily under her fingers; felt the way his body trembled with overexertion though he'd fought to control it. To her utter astonishment, there had been no marks left on his skin, no physical evidence at all of the trauma his body had just endured.

Without a trace of fear she'd whispered his name again, the undeniable question in her tone bringing Anders's eyes to meet hers briefly – soft brown eyes she hadn't noticed prior to that moment – and she remembered how her heart had twisted painfully in her chest. He'd then turned, pulling away from her support and searching gaze and made to stand before his friend that they'd been too late to save.

The memory of Karl's monotonous voice and lifeless eyes made Hawke quiver. Constant whisperings of demons be damned, she would never become a soulless drone - she would rather die than be made Tranquil, and Karl had felt the same. Despite knowing his Tranquillity was irreversible, she couldn't help but ask if there was anything they could do.

"Can you cure a beheading?" was all Anders had offered in response before mercifully ending his friend's life.

They'd all run then, fleeing the Chantry as fast as they could, desperate to return to the relative safety of Darktown's shadows. Anders had fallen further and further behind until Hawke had dropped back and pulled his arm around her shoulders. He'd murmured something that sounded grateful as she helped steady him once more. They'd continued on in silence.

She was left watching now as Anders made his unsteady way into what she could only assume was his private room at the back of the clinic, making no acknowledgement of the general din surrounding him. He was equally ignored in return by the many waiting patients as he passed them by, though it was possible in his current state that most saw him as merely another sick person in need of a healer. Seeing him this way, looking so fragile, so normal - it was hard to remember what he had become not an hour ago. Irritation at herself and the situation gripped her suddenly and she growled audibly. It had been her choice to aid Anders, 'a favour for a favour' he'd called it. She shook her head, laughing bitterly and feeling utterly foolish. None of it made any sense, but she was damned sure she would get some answers - not to mention the maps that had been the goal of this complete debacle of an evening - but Anders was in no condition to provide either at present.

Hawke sighed heavily, fatigue creeping over her and dampening the sudden irrational surge of anger. What could she do about it now, anyway? She couldn't undo helping Anders – not that she'd really had a choice in the matter to start with. All she had left was the decision of what to do now.

_Those __hoping __to __receive __treatment __tonight __are __going __to __be __disappointed,_ Hawke realised sadly, her eyes briefly resting on a couple soothing the tears of their young daughter as she coughed and hacked continuously.

A stern-looking older woman with thick greying hair and glasses perched precariously on the end of her nose was the only one to look up in concern as Anders walked by. She appeared to be an assistant of sorts, working her way through the groups of people waiting to be tended, assessing and prioritising the patients. On seeing the state of the healer, however, Hawke was the first to receive her reproachful glare, her eyes firing daggers over the rim of her spectacles, and before Hawke could rearrange her features into something more innocently passive, those hard eyes had already moved on, wandering to Carver, Varric, and lastly Juno, all of whom had remained by the clinic entrance. When she got to the mabari, the woman's growing look of suspicion was cemented firmly in place. To Hawke's great surprise, she made no attempt to ask what had happened to Anders; instead she turned away with a disparaging shake of the head, wiping her hands down the front of her apron before dealing with the next elderly gentleman.

_Perhaps __seeing __Anders __so __exhausted __isn__'__t __unusual?_ Hawke mused. _Then __again, __perhaps __she __just __wouldn__'__t __believe __our __explanations, __so __she __doesn't __bother __asking._

Hawke couldn't blame her on that front, quickly assessing their overall appearance. They did look quite the bloodied, beaten up posse, and certainly could have graced any league of rogues in Kirkwall – unsurprising, considering the night they'd had. Hawke was simply grateful to have all limbs accounted for.

"Sister," Carver began, his voice pitched low as he stepped forward and grabbed Hawke by the elbow, pulling her slightly. "We need to go!"

"Is it just me, or did any of that not seem right to anyone else?" Varric asked nervously, his opinion on the evening's events having been strangely lacking up to that point.

"No, Varric, this is _not_ right. Your bloody Warden's an abomination!" Carver fumed, looking angrily over his shoulder at Varric.

Varric lifted his hands defensively. "Hey, how was I supposed to know?" he asked.

"Sister," Carver said again, looking back at Hawke and pulling more insistently on her arm, "the Templars will be looking for him; we'll be hunted for sure. We need to get away from here."

"No," answered Hawke thoughtfully. She'd already made up her mind about this. _She_ wasn't going anywhere.

"What?" exclaimed both Carver and Varric.

"No, _I'm_ not leaving," she elaborated, "but you both need to get out of here."

"Why? Why are you staying?" asked Carver, yanking hard enough that she was forced to look at him. "You can't expect me to just up and leave you here with _that_!" he said, pointing in the direction Anders had staggered.

Her brother's expression flinched fractionally under her gaze. The order was clear in her eyes: _You __can, __and __you __will._ "I need to stay," she said aloud.

"No, you don't," argued Carver, his voice rising in volume, drawing unwanted attention.

"Are any of you in need of healing?" It was Anders's assistant, scowling as she crossed the room to stand boldly in front of Hawke. Instantly Carver took a step back, allowing Hawke to take the brunt of the woman's displeasure. "No?" she enquired, looking them over distastefully when no answer was forthcoming. "Then I suggest you make room for those who do… and close the door on your way out." With that dismissal, she turned and marched away, muttering angrily under her breath.

Hawke sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose before rounding on her brother. "We need those maps, Carver," she said, pulling her arm free of his grasp, "which he's in no position to give right now."

"Then we'll come back tomorrow," Carver suggested.

"Potentially leading any investigating Templars right here?" Hawke asked incredulously. Her brother's frown deepened. "Look around," she demanded, gesturing to the people waiting in the clinic. "These are innocent people. Many of them are Ferelden refugees like us. This place is their only source of aid. If it were discovered by the Templars…" she let the idea hang.

"So you'd be fine with letting him continue here after what you saw tonight?"

"They need a healer," she muttered uneasily, casting another pensive look over the room at large. Carver huffed impatiently and the resulting spike of irritation at how he always demanded she lead and then was never satisfied with her decisions forced her to respond further. "Look, I'm in no position to play judge right now, I need more information."

"More than seeing him tearing open Templars with his bare hands?"

Hawke winced, worrying her bottom lip as her earlier dread returned with the memory. "Whatever we witnessed tonight," she said, "I doubt it's the first time it's happened, you saw his face after he changed back. He was scared but not shocked."

"Still, Hawke, a possessed mage?" questioned Varric suddenly. "I realise he was my find, but…" He shrugged uncertainly.

"If that's the case," she replied, smiling slightly at him, knowing this was as close as Varric would venture to openly questioning her, especially with Carver present, "then it will have to be dealt with... quietly." She watched him concur though she found the idea of 'dealing with it' thoroughly disturbing. "But only _if_," she added, "and I'm not convinced."

"Not convinced?" sputtered Carver. "You're too easily suckered by a pair of big brown eyes and the beaten dog routine."

Hawke offered her brother the most sceptical expression she could muster.

"How do you know what colour his eyes are, Junior?"

"Shut up, Varric," Carver snapped, uninterested in his quips, but Hawke caught Varric's eye, offering him a silent apology on behalf of her brother. He simply smirked in return and shook his head, completely unfazed. "For the Maker's sake, he - _it_ - was going to attack you!"

"Don't 'Maker's sake' me, Carver," Hawke began, "I'm not an idiot who's been taken in by a handsome face. I've already said we'll deal with this if there's enough justification, but how many abominations have you seen able to flit back to being human at will? There's obviously more to this man than what we've seen for him to be healing a little boy this morning to-"

"_Murdering_ Templars as 'something else' tonight," Carver threw in.

Hawke let her eyes close, suddenly exhausted. "I don't want to argue about this, okay? Mother will be worried enough that I'm not with you tonight without you stomping home like an angry bear."

Carver's expression said he was about to argue further regardless, but Hawke lifted her hand to silence him before he could begin. "I intend to get answers and maps before I leave here, Carver," she said, "and… I have to stay. These people came here tonight seeking aid, which is something Anders in no state to offer right now, but I can. I'm staying, end of discussion. Juno can stay with me," she added quickly, and her huge mabari barked in agreement, marching from where he had stood behind Varric to sit at her side. She scratched his ear fondly, invoking a deep thrumming sound from low in his chest. "I won't be totally unprotected."

Carver groaned, but Hawke knew that he knew he wouldn't be able to sway her once her mind was made up. "I hope you know what you're doing," he muttered, running his hand through his mop of black hair and glaring.

Hawke couldn't help but smile at him, she was used to this attitude. He was genuinely more worried about her than angry at her, he'd just never learned how to show it. "It'll be alright. Trust me. I'll be home tomorrow, I'll have the maps, and we can get on with making the rest of the coin we need for Bartrand. We'll never have to see Anders again."

"Knowing you, Sister, somehow I doubt that," he answered sourly; turning toward Varric, who was already making his way out of the clinic. Carver paused briefly in the entranceway and, without looking back, said, "I will see you tomorrow, then."

"Be careful, Hawke," Varric added with a nod of his head before following after her brother. "Come on, Junior, quick drink on me in the Hanged Man?"

"I need it after this."

Hawke rolled her eyes, listening to them till her brother's chuntering faded into the distance. Once again she found herself offering silent thanks to the Maker for Varric. He hadn't known them long, but he'd picked up on their family dynamic very fast. He knew to keep quiet when things were like this between her and her brother, giving his usual swift wit a rest, though even he found Carver's whiny immaturity grating at times, when a few choice words easily cut her brother to the quick. Hawke rubbed at her temples, such things often came back to haunt her in the end, so she was grateful for him holding his tongue despite Carver's rudeness. Things would be difficult enough after all this.

To say that her and Carver's relationship was a strained one was putting it mildly. Being second to a mage sister less than four years his senior was more than his pride could handle. Luckily for him, Hawke was willing to utilise her learned mage skills to give her extra patience when really all she wanted to do was set the nearest thing on fire - the nearest thing usually being her brother.

Simple discipline had left her just about able to cope with his apparent predisposition to hate and blame her for a world of injustices he believed heaped upon him, but the last cut had been too deep to not leave a scar on their fragile relationship, because Hawke saw the same blame for Bethany's death mirrored in their mother's eyes as well.

Things had never been right since Beth died, and she doubted whether they ever would be again.

It was too much sometimes, the responsibility of it all - it was like Hawke wasn't allowed to feel anything herself, like her sister's death hadn't or somehow wouldn't have affected her as much as anyone else. The continual rivalry with Carver was leaving her emotionally ragged and it hurt far more than she would ever say. Honestly, she didn't know what to do anymore, they seemed fated to never see eye to eye about anything and the frequency of their arguments was only increasing. She loved him, though, for his fierce protectiveness and loyalty. She loved him as only an older sister could, even if he was an arrogant ass. Now if only he would get from underfoot and start living his life instead of bitching constantly about being caught in her 'big fat' shadow.

_The __pillock,_ Hawke groused inwardly, taking a moment to gather her tired thoughts and breathe. _Tonight __isn__'__t __over __just __yet._ Maker, she wished it was.

Finally, she rolled up her sleeves and marched straight up to Anders's assistant, conveying the same boldness the woman had shown her not minutes ago. "Is there somewhere I can wash up?" she asked determinedly, glancing down at her grubby attire.

The woman looked taken aback for a moment, pushing her glasses further up her nose idly. "Do you intend to help, Serah?" she asked, her tone questioning Hawke's ability to actually do anything useful. Hawke simply lifted her chin and nodded. "I don't see how a woman such as you would be able to assist. We need our healer, not the rogue who carried him back."

This woman wasn't the first to mistakenly think Hawke a rogue and undoubtedly would not be the last. She'd trained too hard to master a few physical abilities alongside her other 'gifts' to be tied up in the flowing garb of mages. Plus, nothing screams 'apostate' quite like a set of fancy robes and carrying a staff. As a result, she'd always preferred light leathers. Calmly, she lifted her right hand, drawing the woman's attention to where an orb of light was forming at her fingertips. "I'm not a rogue," she explained patiently and the assistant's eyes widened in sudden realisation. "I'm skilled at healing and herbalism. Please, put me to use."

"Very well, Serah...?"

"Hawke."

"Serah Hawke. I'm Ida." Hawke inclined her head in response. "The basin is over there," Ida continued, pointing to the far corner of the clinic; not a hint of gratitude in her voice. _I__'__ve __yet __to __prove __I__'__m __of __any __use, __I __guess,_ Hawke thought. "You'd best get washed up, and we'll get to it. The clinic is fearfully busy tonight."

"Should we check on him?" asked Hawke, looking over in the direction of the door Anders had stumbled through, though she instantly regretted drawing attention back to him and the possibility of being asked to explain what had happened. Luckily Ida seemed content to be left without details. Hawke wasn't sure how she would react to the knowledge of 'their healer' potentially being an abomination. Assuming that she didn't already know.

"Later, perhaps," Ida answered. "He'll sleep a bit and then come out to help most likely. He's like this every other night anyway, though he did look particularly exhausted." Her grim expression told Hawke _she_ wasn't cleared of blame on that front and she turned away quickly heading for the wash basin, beginning to find the woman's prickly attitude truly irritating. Such a long day would never be conducive to Hawke's normally diplomatic nature, but especially not when her nerves were already frazzled and the night promised to be just as taxing. She needed to be careful.

_I __always __need __to __be __careful, _she affirmed, laughing inwardly at herself, _for __all __the __good __it __ever __does __me. _"Juno!" His head lifted instantly at her call and tilted to the side as he waited for her command. Hawke gestured with two fingers to her eyes, then to Anders's door. Juno huffed, laying his head back down and she chuckled, no doubt he was keeping an eye out already.


	2. Chapter 2

Moments in Time – Connection (part 2)

Hawke stretched her arms above her head, feeling a couple of vertebra clunk back into place. To say the night had been taxing on her reserves was an understatement. She was beyond tired, and could only guess what night after night of such mana depletions would do to a mage's stress levels. Top such daily exertions with a healthy dose of demon possession and suddenly Anders's apparent oddities held new understanding for her.

_He must be exceptionally skilled and possess a will of iron… regardless of whatever else he appears capable of, _she mused, leaning heavily on the railings outside the clinic and staring out in the murky depths of the harbour channel far below. Even the dawn light couldn't penetrate the lingering mist that had settled over the water's surface.

She closed her eyes, breathing in the chill morning air and listened. She could just make out the rusty tinkle of thick banded chains clinking mournfully against the sheer rock face. It was a faint distraction from the continual creaking and straining of the ancient foundations supporting the weight of the City above – a realisation Hawke found thoroughly disconcerting, though it was a good audible representation of how she felt physically.

_This is a dismal place,_ she thought, rubbing at the crick in her neck comfortingly, and turned her gaze skyward only to be confronted by more stone and rusted metalwork. She'd never spent long enough down here to really appreciate how bad it was, and it horrified her to consider how most of her countrymen had ended up in this Maker forsaken pit, left weak and vulnerable but for the selfless support of people like Anders and Ida.

'_People_?' Hawke shook her head at the simple notion. There was no point believing a few breaths of fresh air would help clear her mind - not that 'fresh' was the word she'd use to describe what she was currently inhaling. Truth be told, she hadn't made her mind up about Anders yet, despite having had all night to consider the 'is he or isn't he possessed?' conundrum from every conceivable angle.

Anders had remained absent for the entirety of the night's proceedings, which though unsurprising to Hawke, had filled her with growing anxiety. She needed to talk to him; she needed to understand if only to know how to respond. The others didn't get it and probably never would, but she had to give Anders a chance to explain, she just had to. His selfless acts as a healer granted enough leniency in her mind to warrant hearing him out if nothing else.

_Yet, here I am, ready to play judge, jury and executioner if what he has to say is not what I want to hear, Maker._

During a brief lull, when Ida had suggested her taking a break and making use of a lyrium potion, Hawke had seized upon the opportunity to check on Anders as apparently he kept a personal stock stored in his room for such busy evenings.

She had knocked lightly on his open door before popping her head into his room, giving her eyes a few seconds to adjust to the darkness. The reason for a lack of response became apparent when she'd found Anders splayed out, still fully clothed; face down over his makeshift bed.

Overwhelming concern for his wellbeing had filled her at the sight, it having been impossible to ascertain whether he was even still breathing from where she'd stood. With such fears in mind, Hawke had ventured over the threshold in a daze, trying to ignore the possibility that Anders could have suffocated himself on his emaciated pillow.

She'd only taken two steps into the room when Juno brushed passed, silent as a ghost. "I thought you were sleeping," she'd whispered reproachfully, having looked over at him several times throughout the night as he'd stretched out by the door in contented slumber. He'd ignored the comment, snorting in warning as she'd come alongside Anders's bed; stopping her from reaching out to check for a pulse. She'd understood Juno's concern. Hawke suspected Anders was accustomed to just waking in his own time - Ida had certainly been in no hurry to check on him - and neither Juno nor Hawke had been certain how the mage would react if suddenly woken, or quite literally what state would present itself in such a circumstance. Hawke couldn't have imagined it making the blindest bit of difference that the person doing the waking was simply making sure he hadn't died in his sleep.

The quandary was resolved when Juno – unwilling for his mistress to take the risk - gently nudged Anders's hand as it hung limply over the edge of the mattress. The brief contact with a cold, wet nose had been enough to make him stir, turning his face and presenting Hawke with his handsome profile. Thankfully it hadn't been enough to wake him, and, rightly or wrongly, Hawke had allowed herself a moment to truly take him in as he lay there, totally oblivious to the world.

The fine lines of age and worry that had consumed his face before had all but vanished in sleep, leaving her eyes free to trace over his angular features and prominent nose; noting the clarity of his pale skin even if his pallor was somewhat sickly in the dim light. He was younger than she'd first thought, perhaps even a similar age to herself. He had a strong jaw covered with several days' worth of growth, but the thick stubble suited him she'd decided. His red-blonde hair, pulled back in a short messy ponytail, had already earned him the nickname 'Blondie' from Varric. She'd also noticed that his ear had definitely been pierced once, though he no longer wore an earring.

_How had things ended up this way for him?_ she'd wondered. _To be a runaway Grey Warden, possessed mage, _and_ healer?_ By rights, it was a mix that should have been impossible, but there Anders lay, all evidence to the contrary.

Ida had called to her from the door then, pulling her back to the harsh reality that she was stood at Anders's bedside unnecessarily. He'd been breathing and was apparently comfortable enough, so she'd made to leave, forgetting all about the lyrium potion she'd initially entered his room to retrieve.

On looking back at him briefly, Hawke had felt an unexpected idea of 'kindred spirit' take root within her – a connection that was both ridiculous and dangerous, but undeniably desirable. The only other apostates she'd ever had friendly relations with had been family, and both her father and Beth were now long past caring how much she desperately needed and missed them both.

Swiftly coming back to the present, Hawke shivered as the cold morning claimed her senses again and Juno growled low in warning beside her. Approaching voices were coming from within the clinic.

"Where are they now?" she heard Anders ask in a panic.

"I told you, Hawke just wanted a breath of air, she's been awake all night and I thought it would do her good," Ida explained, voice riddled with irritation. Hawke hadn't been the only one to go without sleep.

"Don't you understand, Ida," responded Anders, the door to the clinic opening, "what if she's gone to the Temp—" His concerned rant was quieted abruptly as he stepped out and realised Hawke was standing just a few feet away. His expression at seeing her there would have been almost comical had his shock not been warranted. Admittedly, he knew as much about her as she did about him; he certainly had no idea what she was capable of. _And considering the fact I've been debating ending his life all night I guess he has every reason to be concerned._

"There, you see," said Ida, gesturing to Hawke absently as she followed Anders out, "just as I said, getting some air!"

"Easy," soothed Hawke, petting Juno as he planted himself in front of her, growling menacingly at Anders who continued to stare in confusion. "We're to hear him out, remember?"

Ida muttered something unintelligible, no doubt infuriated at being ignored and headed back into the clinic. It took Anders a minute to build up the confidence, but on registering Ida's sudden absence he finally ventured over, gripping at the railings beside Hawke as if fearing to be pitched over at any second. She took advantage of his apparent inability to look her in the eye, assessing what she could of his general state of being. For all the hours he'd slept he appeared little rested.

"Templars?" she questioned, her eyebrows raising incredulously, "Really?"

"I'd expected you to have run by now, possibly screaming," Anders muttered in explanation, looking out into the distance. "You wouldn't be the first."

"To run screaming or to be a Templar rousing apostate?"

"Both I imagine."

Hawke shrugged, "I still need the maps, and your patients needed a healer."

Anders nodded thoughtfully, "A noble gesture."

"Questionable," replied Hawke, leaning back against the railings casually, "according to my brother. Maybe 'necessary' would be a more appropriate description."

"Yet, unexpected… given the circumstances."

"I'm sorry about your friend." The words left her lips before she knew what she was saying. Even more surprising to her was their truth. She really was sorry.

Anders head tipped forward in sorrow. "Karl was a proven mage and a good man. Is it wrong that I feel little remorse for what happened?"

Hawke remained quiet, unsure how to answer, her gut twisting uncomfortably at his honesty._ So he was aware,_ she realised, _but__ was he in control? _He turned his head toward her when she didn't respond, his eyes, still a soft brown, looking at her concerned. "I'm sorry," he said, "it was wrong of me to burden you with this."

"Was it you?" Hawke asked, unable to form a better question, "Last night? I've never seen magic like it before."

Anders didn't answer, and Hawke felt the world about her fade as she was drawn into the lingering attention of his eyes, unable to break away and finding she didn't really want to. Finally, he sighed and looked up, breaking the spell she was under. "That's not really something I can answer in brief. It would require laying out some history and I doubt you feel up to hearing it all after the night you've had."

"Well, answers are partly why I'm still here too," Hawke explained, watching as Anders closed his eyes and shook his head, appearing to try and resolve some inner argument with little success. Suddenly, he headed for the door to his clinic.

"Anders?" Hawke asked after him, confused.

"Come inside," he responded over his shoulder, "it's not safe to talk out in the open."

Juno growled beside her, watching Anders with obvious contempt at the suggestion his mistress should follow him, and as Hawke stepped forward to do just that he bit into the sleeve of her shirt tugging her back insistently. "Juno!" Hawke snapped, trying to wriggle out of his grip. He didn't let go.

"Bring your friend," Anders suggested, standing waiting by the clinic's hidden entrance. "I could do without him pounding his way in once the door's closed."

"Come on, Juno," demanded Hawke, yanking her arm free and kneeling down in front of him. His head tipped questioningly as he whimpered at her: _why?_ "He's a mage," she answered, stroking the side of Juno's furry face and neck, "like me." He snorted in disgust and shook his head; Hawke smiled. "I know it's hard to understand," she said, getting to her feet, "but you heard what I said to Carver yesterday. We need more information. This is the only way we'll get it." His eyes glinted intently, clearly he was having other more violent ideas. "That would hardly be helpful, Juno," Hawke chastised, making her way to where Anders remained stood patiently. "

"Should I ask?" he questioned as she approached.

"It's nothing you're not already aware of, I'm sure." Anders nodded in understanding and held the door open for her. "You coming?" she asked, looking back at Juno. He padded about on the spot, clearly uncomfortable with the whole idea, but suddenly sprinted forward, dashing in ahead and nearly bowling Ida over as she made her way out. Several words of apology later and one withering look from Hawke that sent Juno scurrying for cover, Ida was gone, disappearing out into the dim light of Darktown.

"Will she be alright?" Hawke asked, watching after Ida with concern. "I know it's daytime, but still…"

"I'd feel for the ones foolish enough to try and cross her," Anders replied, and with a wave of his hand he snuffed out the lantern above the clinic entrance and pulled the door closed behind them.

* * *

><p>In the hours that followed Anders told Hawke everything. The act of someone opening themselves up so completely had honestly been a little overwhelming at first, but she'd made a point of staving off her exhaustion, accepting some elfroot tea and listening intently to every detail he offered. She watched contentedly as the near pained expression on his face faded to one of ease and relief the longer he spoke. She suspected he'd simply been grateful to have had someone to talk to, and with everything that had happened to him, she wasn't surprised.<p>

His time within the Fereldan Circle of Magi had left him angry and resentful, but when he'd successfully escaped - after several failed attempts - it was only to find himself invoked into the Grey Wardens, the alternative at the time being returned to Kinloch hold and likely made Tranquil.

He'd tried to make a life for himself amongst the Wardens, he'd even made some friends there, but he'd still found himself controlled and confined, a bitter reminder of the life he'd already fled once and so he'd run again.

Justice was the first decision he'd made for himself, yet it had proved the most detrimental of his life. Hawke couldn't help but wonder at that point whether Anders might not have been safer remaining in the Circle. Especially recalling the way her father described some of the other mages there, the ones so used to confinement they couldn't function out in the real world. She knew that wasn't really the issue for Anders, however, and truthfully, who was she to judge? Her life had been comparatively simple.

_He'd only done what he'd thought was for the best, willingly playing host to his friend, a Fade Spirit – not demon._ Her mind boggled at the thought. As luck would have it, the merging hadn't gone as anticipated, the results being everything Hawke had witnessed the night before. Justice was no longer justice, but had been warped by Anders's anger into a deadly force of Vengeance.

They were one and the same now, their individual thoughts felt in unison though Anders still spoke of Justice as if he were separate at times, like some distinguishing was still possible – to him at least. Hawke found the knowledge that the thing she'd seen tear Templars apart was sitting in front of her, hiding behind the charming façade of this skilled, selfless healer, terrifying, and on more than one occasion had found herself staring into Anders's brown eyes as he talked, waiting to see some flicker of blue that signalled the Fade Spirit's presence. It never happened, and after a while it became easy to forget and lose herself in the warm way Anders had begun to look at her in return.

* * *

><p>Hawke groaned, trying to lift her head from the awkward position she'd somehow managed to fall asleep in, feeling the grains of the storage crate she was leant against digging into her back. Her right side felt wonderfully warm though, thanks to Juno pressed up against her. She scratched at him fondly and instantly his head lifted off his front paws to look back at her.<p>

"What time is it?" she asked.

Juno growled as Anders offered an answer from somewhere beyond the crate behind her. "With little to distinguish between night and day down here it's hard to say. Early evening I'd guess."

"Maker's breath, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep," apologised Hawke, rubbing at her eyes.

"You needed to," said Anders, suddenly appearing on her left and stooping down. He handed her another cup of elfroot tea. "I'm the one who's sorry," he began, noticing the tentative way she began massaging her neck, "I would have moved you somewhere more comfortable but… _he_ wouldn't let me." Anders jerked his head in Juno's direction who promptly huffed and lay his head back down. "Ahh, _you_ liked me well enough when you wanted something, thank the Maker you didn't try and sit on my head like a normal pet though. Did I mention I'm a cat person?" he asked Hawke casually.

"I think it came up," she replied, slightly bemused by his jovial attitude. She lifted her cup to him in thanks for it before having a little sip. "Ser Pounce a lot, wasn't it?"

"Yes, that's right. Brave little bugger! Swatted a Genlock on the nose once - drew blood too."

"Impressive."

"It was."

Neither of them spoke then, Hawke concentrating on her cup and Anders watching her drink it impassively. She was just starting to feel uncomfortable when he finally spoke again.

"I… thank you," he said softly, looking down at the floor, "for not running away and judging me. You're the first and I wouldn't have blamed you, you know - if you had."

Hawke deliberated over her drink for a minute, watching the liquid as she swirled it around. "It seems to me that you did what you thought was right, meaning well, hoping to help, isn't that what most of us would strive to do?" she asked, reaching out to place her hand on his shoulder. A simple comforting gesture, one she'd afforded many others before, but the way his eyes lifted at her touch holding hers with such intensity, it made her realise how much more it truly meant. She'd wanted to touch him, wanted to affirm this growing connection between them that was in Varric terminology 'more than several parts crazy.'

"Kind, wise and beautiful, you must have made some deals with a demon yourself," said Anders, not missing a beat as Hawke felt her cheeks flush with heat. Momentarily speechless; unused to such attention or to know how to respond to it, she was left only able to blush more profusely the longer he stared.

A warning growl from Juno and a sudden flash of blue in Ander's eyes cooled the moment instantly.

He recoiled from her, covering his face with his hands and shaking his head slightly as if warding off an irritating insect. "I'm sorry," he muffled out, finding his feet and stumbling away to the far side of the room.

Hawke had stood the instant Justice had made himself known again, but the desire to run never claimed her, only worry for the discomfort it evidently caused the man before her, cowering away, ashamed. She already knew she'd put herself at terrible risk by staying. Falling asleep had been an even bigger mistake, and yet, despite all reasons to the contrary she still couldn't bring herself to be afraid of him. He hadn't let himself hurt her last night, and she was sure he would stop himself again if needed.

"I'm sorry," he repeated as she came alongside him, resting her hand on his arm gently. "I shouldn't be so familiar, it's just… I feel like I know you."

Knowing she felt the same in return Hawke couldn't judge him, she smiled warmly in an attempt to placate him. "I need to go," she said, "before Carver begins massing the troops and they cobble together some idiotic plan to come and retrieve me."

Anders nodded gravely, realising despite her casual tone Hawke wasn't being anything but truthful. "Here," he said, reaching for a few folded pieces of parchment he'd got gathered on a table nearby. "The maps you need – I've marked all the entrances I can recall."

"Thank you," said Hawke, giving the top one a brief once over. "These will be invaluable." She tucked them away inside her leathers and looked up at him. "It's been good to meet you Anders," she said, offering him her hand and trying desperately not to consider their time in the Chantry.

He carefully wrapped his long fingers around hers, "You too, Marian," he said, contemplating for a long moment before he found the courage to say whatever else was on his mind. "I shouldn't ask this, I mean, it would be safer for you to stay away from me, but… will I see you again?"

Hawke cringed, inwardly thinking of what she'd said to Carver the previous day and his response:

_'We'll never have to see Anders again.' _

'_Knowing you, Sister, somehow I doubt that.'_

She hated to prove her brother right.

"I'd like that I think," she answered with a smile. "I could come and help you here some evenings if you think I could be of use."

"Most certainly," said Anders, enthused, "but I wouldn't want to inconvenience you."

"Perhaps I could get you out of here to the Hanged Man on occasion then? You'd be well hidden there. Varric has his own suite. It seems the authorities accept it as a place of sanctuary for people like us."

The idea made him smile in return and Hawke wasn't sure whether it was the invitation or her choice of words inadvertently pairing them together, but then his expression altered dramatically, falling into a worried frown. "Perhaps the City Guard is willing to look the other way, but the Templars?" The question hung between them, the venom in his voice undeniable as if this was yet another treasured thing they were denying him.

"I would keep you safe," Hawke promised, her voice barely above a whisper.

Anders's eyes were warm again as he looked into her face, his hand brushing aside her fringe as he sighed deeply. "But, who would keep you safe?" he asked in response, pausing as if there was more he would have added then thought better of it.

Hawke knew his next words would have been '_from me'_ but she no longer cared, and _that_ inner most confession scared her more than anything else.


End file.
